What I Mean Is
by ShaniRona
Summary: Pepperony one shot. Post Civil War, Pepper begs Tony to fill her in on what happened, but Tony can't say everything he needs to. Tony's POV.


A/N: Got an idea from something I saw on the internet, plus my own disturbed mind. Post Civil War, Tony's POV.

* * *

I don't know what to say. I mean...that's a lie. I always know what to say. I just don't know what to say to _you_. You haven't been here.

"Tony, what _happened_?" she tries again.

Typical Pepper, trying to pry the information out of me. And then what? Then she'll pity me? No thanks. I'm Tony fucking Stark, I don't get pity. Jealousy, maybe. Envy, yes. Pity? No. I've got it all, with or without her.

"You know Nat wouldn't have called me unless it was urgent," she goes on, and I'm stuck staring at her blue eyes, almost tuning out her voice; sorry, I guess, just can't handle words right now. "But I need you to talk. I can't guess, I can't mind read... I need you to tell me while I'm here."

"I'll be fine," I offer, hand covering my mouth as I lean back in my seat at the desk she's got one ass cheek on for stability.

It isn't what I mean, but whatever. No point in telling her I won't be, she won't listen. She didn't listen last time I begged her not to go, what's changed since then?

Thank God Bruce is missing. Well, not actually thank God. But you know, the whole science shit was getting old. It used to be fun. _Anything _used to be fun. But I wouldn't be able to force being snarky, chipper Tony for him right now, so it's probably better if I'm by myself.

"How are you going to be fine?" she asks; I can feel her eyes on me even though I'm not meeting them. "By sitting here? Ignoring your friends, not eating, not sleeping, not-"

"What friends?" I ask dryly.

Translation: I don't have any. Never have.

"Your team. Nat, Rhodey, Ste-"

"Don't say his name," I snap, glaring a her.

But that look on her face...God, that look on her beautiful face. What the fuck happened to me? I shouldn't care. But Pepper...Pepper changed everything, at least for a little while. For a little while it was only her.

"Okay," she sighs. "So something happened with him."

"I said I don't want to talk about it. We aren't together, or did you forget?"

Yeah, okay, I'm being a dick. But emotions don't mix well with me and who the hell am I kidding? Being defensive is easier than opening up. What even is opening up? I'm put together, right? I can at least appear to be. Just cause shit happened doesn't mean I'm broken. That's what I told the kid, right? It happens, no need to be a pussy about it.

"Tony, your cheek is bruised, your nose is _bleeding_," she tries, reaching out, but I flinch away at first because I'm too afraid that human contact is going to break me down right now.

"You should see the other guy," I say, an attempt at being funny even if I just mumble it.

"Is the other guy Captain America?"

She knows I don't want to hear it, and she says it anyway. Just not his real name. To be fair, I only said not to say that one.

"His buddy killed my parents, Pep."

It's nearly a whisper and I don't know why I'm letting my voice crack, but there it is. Stupid pain. Go away.

But Pepper only blinks, apparently speechless for once. And that's just the basics. She doesn't know the details. The tape that exists, documenting it. The fact that he _knew_. She doesn't even know about Rhodey yet, I don't think...also because of him, indirectly.

Instead of answering, she reaches out and places her hand on my shoulder, to which I let my eyes close. I take in a deep breath, trying to steady and balance my anger.

"Why didn't you tell me?" she asks softly.

Yeah, cause I fucking knew?

"I didn't know," I state dryly. "And we broke up, remember?"

What I really mean is: you walked out. You left me when I needed you. When I was hurting, when I was terrified of the future. When I wasn't functioning enough to even take care of myself, you left because I couldn't take care of you, too. And I tried, Pep. I really fucking tried.

"I still care about you, Tony..." she promises, her voice quietly killing me. "If you needed to talk-"

"It's just life. Shit happens."

No, this shit doesn't always happen. I can deal with the fact that I have to play superhero and work on weapons and parent this Spiderling thing now, maybe. But I can't handle this.

Her hand brushes through my hair lightly, taking me by surprise. It's the first time my eyes flicker up to hers.

"Don't worry about me," I beg, letting that anger slowly get replaced by sadness. "I'll get over it."

I won't get over it. This is going to sting for a while.

"You need to get out of the lab," she requests.

"I'm not feeling well, that's all."

I'm depressed, Pep. I mean, probably more than depressed. I should feel, right? But everything's numb. Everything's empty.

She forces a small smile. "Then let me take care of you."

"Why?"

You said you couldn't handle me. Am I a project now? Something for you to fix and move on? You don't want me. No one wants me.

"Because you need help."

I sigh, letting my hand drop to the table top as I shrug in defeat. "I need more help than anyone can offer."

I'm a mess. I haven't told anyone yet but I've been feeling like this for a while. Useless. Like I've lost everything and everyone. I've tried to do the write thing and it always winds up being the wrong thing.

"Wanna bet?" she smirks, trying to lighten the mood.

But I swallow, anxious. "I'd win."

I know I'm right. I can't even collect my own thoughts half the time. I don't have the energy but I can't sleep. I haven't cleaned my face or shaved even though this happened days ago. I just don't see a reason to. I'm panicking, but I'm holding it in. Not like anyone's noticed, anyway.

"Well, in case you forgot already," she states delicately, "your friends noticed. You know, the ones you don't think you have? So that's point one to me."

Must be coincidence, right? I'm not actually telling her this shit. And there's no way she knows what I'm leaving unsaid after all this time apart.

"I got best of three," I counter.

She continues moving her hand through my hair, pushing it back, and it's soothing to an extent. But it's also making my throat sting, and that bothers me. What is this feeling? Pain? Sorrow? God, make it stop.

"Talk to me," she beg again, and somehow this one breaks me.

I look down t my hand on the table top, trying to steady my rapidly beating heart.

"I'm sorry I didn't care enough," I admit quietly, the first time I've apologized and _meant _it.

But that's not all I mean. I can't tell her, but I mean I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I'm not good enough. I'm sorry I can't be better for you, or be the man you wanted me to be once I realized I didn't wanna be a player anymore. I should've focused on you and treated you like the damn queen you are, not pushed you away.

She inhales, holding it, and waits.

"I don't know what to do," I breathe, suddenly clutching my chest as my heart beat still doesn't settle.

I'm alone. I don't know how to make things better. I keep having panic attacks. I keep hating myself for things I can't control. I keep telling myself I don't matter, and I _believe_ myself.

"We'll figure it out," she promises, cupping my cheek now instead.

"I should just get back to work..." I mutter as an excuse to stop talking.

But I really mean I should stop over thinking, but it's so hard not to. I should just disappear. Everyone's lives would be better. I should just end it. Stop everyone from hurting, myself included. No one wants me here anymore.

"Tony, I've seen the tapes," Pepper tells me. "You haven't moved from this chair in two days."

"I left to pee," I argue. "I'm working on things in my head."

Translate that one, too? If I stare at the lines on the table long enough, I can steady my breathing. But I haven't showered or eaten, you're right.

"They can wait."

"Not this one. This idea's important."

I've made up my mind, Pep. Just go. Please leave, because I don't know what to tell you. It hurts. Everything hurts, and I'm tired of it hurting. Even if I tell you everything, you wouldn't understand. There's no valid reason, is there? Except that I'm a coward and can't handle the shit I've fucked up on my own. I deserve this.

"What idea?" she presses, and the concern in her eyes is present; I can't miss it.

"Just...something I thought of in Siberia..." I lie.

"Tony..."

Hearing my name on her lips again just hurts more. "I can't do this on my own, Pep..."

Do I have to scream it? Maybe I've always known that to an extent. But this time I mean it. I don't want to be alive anymore. I've lost everything. Iron Man has been nothing but a burden. I'd rather just kill the suits...and then...myself..

"You're not alone, I told you-"

"I don't want to feel anymore," I blurt out, cutting her off, though it's not what I mean, either.

I don't want to live.

She nods slightly, but lifts my chin to keep her eyes on mine. Her palm is warm against the skin on my dirty cheek, and I don't dare back away from it yet.

"I want you here," she tells me, steady and strong with her tone. "And what I mean is I miss you, Stark. And I know you need help, and I don't care how long I have to sit here...I am going to stay until you tell me how to help because I love you."

I furrow my brow, listening, and wondering how the hell she guessed again.

"What I mean is it's okay to feel like this, but it's going to be all right," she adds, softer. "We'll talk, we'll figure it out...but I need you here, safe, and healthy. With me. No stupid ideas or 'projects' in your head. The Anthony Stark I know does not give up. Deal?"

I blink, unsure of how she always knows how to read me. She's adamant, she's not taking no for an answer, just like I remember. She's always my fiery, red haired angel, saving me from doing something dumb.

"Deal."


End file.
